


All of our exchanges are by candlelight

by Mis_Shapes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blasphemy, Danish Greyjoys, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period Typical Attitudes, Pictish Ygritte, Saxon - Viking Age AU, Saxon Starks, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Violence in Later Chapters, hay frolicking, somewhat influenced by the Last Kingdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes
Summary: When Eddard and Catelyn Stark are called away Robb is forced to step in when a Danish ship, with Theon and Asha aboard, approaches the shore.





	1. Robb

**Author's Note:**

> Please, let me know what you think! This has been sitting in my documents for a while now with me debating whether to put it on or not... I'd like to know id there's much interest. This is my first attempt at writing in the past tense, which was a little odd. Luwin is really OOC - like I didn't even really try, its just his name.

Gulls cawed as they circled the overcast sky above the incoming ship. Some might have considered this an omen of sorts, this bleak weather. As clever as they seemed sometimes they failed to discern one type of vessel from another. It’s wasn’t a fishing boat, they weren’t in luck, nor was it a trader despite the lack of a monster figurehead at its prow. Judging by how close it neared the shore, the keel was shallow, built for navigating rivers rather than holding cargo, built for speed. They believed him naïve, as though he might be more trusting of a lion that is clearly in sheep’s clothing. The pagans would try every trick in the book.

They weren’t the only ones who though he could be fooled. He could sense his younger sister Arya in the sand dunes behind them, shielded by the tall grasses that rustled pleasantly with each gust of wind. Father Luwin, dressed in his usual natural undyed and rough wool robes, customary wooden cross hanging from his neck, appeared unaware of her shadowing but perhaps he chose to ignore her as Robb did. All his tales of the heathens had only made her more curious, not that Old Nan’s legends of the old gods and superstition helped matters. What she was primarily hoping to spot no doubt were the infamous shield maidens, she was sure to be disappointed.

Jon rode up alongside him, his face grim as he stared out into the murky grey waves of the North Atlantic, “twenty, or near abouts,” his half-brother called over the harsh sea winds in reference to the occupants of the rapidly approaching ship. His gaze was as steely as the mail he wore with his leathers, seax and the bastard sword at his waist. All practicality, with his hair tied back to keep it from straying across his face in the salty sea air. Robb nodded, thankful for his keen eyesight. They outnumbered the Danes, just.

As the ship neared, a tall figure climbed up onto the beam with graceful poise and ease, one hand on the rigging. It became apparent that there was no practical reason for this as he prowled, one foot in front of the other. It was all in jest with his companions. Robb had heard they could be prone to such reckless whims, intending to intimidate. When close enough in to the beach he was the first to jump out into the water. The waves splashed up onto him, splattering the blue linen tunic with spray. It was hemmed with a wide woven silk band of an intricate pattern in what appeared from there to be true purple. He was nothing like the unwashed brutes he has been taught to expect. Though garish perhaps, lacking piety.

Robb shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, gripping the leather reins tightly in gloved hands. He regretted wholeheartedly having let Sister Mordane have any influence in his attire. It was impossible to say quite whether he felt under or over dressed in the maroon wool cloak held with the heavy brooch, millefiori enamelled strap end on his belt, and most ridiculously, the circlet at his brow. His garments felt altogether too conservative, he should have chosen to dress as Jon does, as a warrior in mail. A cliché maybe but the band across his forehead did truly rest uncomfortably. There was no turning back now.

The stranger was followed into the water by the rest of the crew who heaved the boat up onto the sands, licked smooth by the frothing waves. It was then that Robb spotted the woman among them. He had to restrain himself at that point from turning to look back behind him, to Arya. He was, presumably, a leader of sorts, this beautiful sea creature. Sauntering up towards them, he held his hands in a way that made it clear they do not move to a weapon. Never had Robb seen a man so bedecked in silver; rings lined his arms and a glinting hammer amulet hung around his neck. His presence was almost otherworldly. Following Jon’s lead, who very openly did not keep his hand from his sword, Robb dismounted, dropping down onto the soft sands with a crunch of crispy seaweed underfoot.

“You are the Ealdorman?” the man’s accent was thick, but the words left his leering mouth effortlessly, and judging by his neat appearance he had not been at sea more than the day.

“His son. Robb, son of Eddard,” he reminded himself to hold himself with the decorum of a lord, it was the first time he had stood in his father’s stead. This was not the time to drop the façade.

The Dane introduced himself with no invitation to do so, “Theon, son of Earl Balon,” and then as he motioned back to the woman behind him, her also, “my sister, Asha.”

“My lady,” Robb muttered as he bows his head just enough to be polite. Was that how he should be greeting this woman who is like no lady he has ever met? She returned the greeting with a simple nod of the head. A glance to Father Luwin for silent advice brought no enlightenment. “What brings you to our shores, Theon son of Balon?”

“My lord, it is a matter best spoken in private.” 

A bolt of pleasure runs through him at being addressed as such.

“Whatever you have to say can be said in this company,” spat Jon with a stony stare, unable to stand still, on the prowl like some wild animal.

Theon dared to smirk and turned to speak to Robb, “do your men usually speak for you?”

Robb fought to keep the embarrassment from his face, though it was in vain for he felt the heat in his cheeks and his neck almost immediately. It was a curse he shared with his mother and red-haired siblings. He reached to ease up the collar of his tunic, tugging at it lightly. His clothing was scratchy, as it was his best, the wool had not been given ample time to soften and wear in. Jon seethed beside him, but the jovial chiding of the pagan had silenced him.

“You dare speak to the lord as such, Dane?” scolded Father Luwin indignantly, making the sign of the cross and muttering under his breath as though his unholy dissent were contagious.

“Forgive me, I had thought the Lord absent,” Theon cooed, his braids toss lightly in the wind, hair as dark as the jet of the east coast. It shone as though made of the precious stone set into his mother’s jewellery itself. His sister had her arms crossed over her chest and a smug grin tugging at her lips as she eyed him and his fellow Saxons curiously. The rest of the party were beginning to get restless by then. “I am not yet acquainted with all of your customs, you must educate me in the ways of your noble graces,” these words were spoken to Robb directly.

“You speak as though you believe yourself worthy of my brother’s company,” scoffed Jon, scowling.

“Your brother?” Theon asked Robb as he eyed Jon carefully, assessing him. Robb knew this thought process. Their ages were too similar and looks too different to those with a keen eye to be realistically of the same mother. “Your father keeps his natural children close? Your mother must be…,” he looked to Father Luwin as though it is entirely acceptable to say the next words and not at all sinful, “a saint? Is that what you say?”

Jon lunged forwards, a hand taking hold of his throat. It’s was a threat Theon took to heart for he held up his hands in submission. Jon’s hand slipped to the scruff of his clothing, not yet willing to give up his position of power.

“Apologies,” Theon croaked, “did I touch a nerve?”

“Jon, release him,” Robb eventually managed and signalled for him to lay off with a flap of his hand. He would hear of this later from a hurt Jon.

“You Saxons are sensitive prudes,” laughed Theon, rubbing his where Jon’s thumb has pressed in, as Jon glowered. It’s as though he tried to get a rise out of him. “Fuck me, those birds are annoying,” his hand reached back and opened and closed in a silent request for his bow. It was with great skill that he drew back and released the arrow, sending it at speed through the air. He had taken into account the wind speed and the movement of the birds perfectly and one fell from the sky with a splash into the white peaked waves. If the aim was to silence the seagulls, he failed with dramatic effect but if he sought to impress he had won. Despite his clothing it was clear to see the strength and flex of the muscles of his broad shoulders and arms.

Robb cleared his throat and turned to share a look with Jon, who shrugged a little, neither of them were quite sure what to make of this. He clasped his hands, deciding to imitate a stance his father and mother did when they were waiting with silent disapproval for him and his siblings to fall into line; pursing his lips and cocking a brow.

Turning from the gulls as he lowered the bow, the Dane had an arrogant grin painted across his face. Robb’s expression did nothing to daunt him. He strongly suspected he was struggling to suppress the evidence of his unnatural admiration, his eyes were not complying with the stern look he willed on them. As the uncouth heathen approached, the smile never fleeting, he could feel his own lips twitch to mirror it. There was nothing he could do but turn his attention to the sands at his feet to conceal his face.

“You may have a private audience,” Robb decided, causing both wittering about this from his own men and the visitors, who muttered amongst themselves in a language alien to him, “But, I will admit only you and you lady sister, the others must remain outside the walls of the fort.”

“Very well,” Theon said with a mocking bow.

“Rodrick, please see to them.”

Robb could see Jon roll his eyes as they both turned to remount their horses. He’d have made a different decision of course, but it wasn’t his discussion to make. This role wasn’t his burden to bear. Not that Jon saw it that way, but somehow, he couldn’t see Jon ever willingly putting on this get up. Nor would he want to put aside the woman he’d been seeking comfort with. Robb was without the luxury of coming and going as he pleased. 

The elevated position of the saddle brought a newfound confidence. He knew himself to be a good horseman, knew he had mastered the art of looking noble, knew the way some of the girls of Winterfell looked at him as he rode. Riding on ahead with Jon he turned back to look behind, the curiosity of whether he’s being watched overcoming him. He’s was not disappointed, but rather shook, Theon’s eyes were bold, unwavering as he watched. His expression was knowing, as self-confident as Jon post training with the guardsmen’s sons, as self-confident as when Sansa asked mother if her needlework was adequate. Feeling his heart race, he finally spotted Arya in the dunes as she disturbed some of the birds hidden there. His laugh and bright smile are not faked, and yet he had a fleeting delight at being seen like this, having been frequently complimented on both. Delight also at having an opportunity to prove his strength as he helped her up onto his horse.

“Did you see that?” she hissed, “do you think he will teach me? The woman he was with…”

“His sister.” His heart ached for her, this cannot end the way she wants. The scrawny little thing dressed in her brother’s leathers.

“Well, he seems like he’d have no qualms about a bow in her hands. He’s bound to be more willing than Rodrik, don’t you think?” she asked, her voice full of excitement. The messy plaits on each side of her face swayed with the movement of the horse.

“Yes…” He admitted hesitantly, “I suppose that’s probably true but I’m not sure that’s your only problem in that respect.”

“For one, he won’t be here long,” grumbled Jon, still frustrated but softening in his little sister’s presence. She had this way over him like no other. The darker haired siblings believed themselves to be the black sheep, heartening at tales of Starks past. If only they would take a look at their father and see they did not need to idolise the dead. Arya had all but set up a shrine at the feet of their father’s sister’s statue. Not that he could blame her, some of the servant’s whisper as though she is the Lady Lyanna incarnate, he dreaded to think of Father Luwin’s reaction to this heresy should he hear. Scratch the surface and heathendom was writhe in Winterfell. It was said by some that to live higher in the landscape was to live closer to god. It didn’t feel like that but then Robb had little knowledge of the lives of the peasants beyond the walls and he supposed that it was more likely to find the devout with the nobility, living in their keeps.

The great oak gate of the wooden outer perimeter palisade opened on their approach to where Winterfell laid on up on the crag. Typically, their brothers Bran and Rickon stood on the rampart walk in fascinated curiosity. Both looked to be peeved on spotting a smugly waving Arya on Robb’s horse, he could hear their grievances coming already. They weren’t wrong to be annoyed, she was spoilt by Jon and himself, rewarded for her misbehaviour. She could get away with murder. This exasperated no one more than her elder sister Sansa.

Throwing open the door to his room he threw down the diadem onto the wooden bed in frustration. The frustration of having worn it in the first place. The frustration of not being a natural at this, of being a pretender. The frustration of the unknown reason why he sought this man’s approval. But he did, and just like that it was back, the flush in his cheeks.

A delicate clear of the throat alerted him to the presence of another behind him in the dimly lit room.

“Yes?” He asked, turning to find Sansa stood in the doorway, seeking permission to enter. Her beautiful hair was covered by her head cloth. The band was exquisitely embroidered, by her own hand, but she was better suited to the fiery red it helped conceal. Sansa herself was a radiant beauty oozing with innocence. Always a dreamer, she was largely good-natured and kind, though she found it difficult with Arya and struggled with how to treat Jon due to her mother’s animosity towards him. Robb suspected that Jon was rather enjoying her absence if not their father’s.

“Jon and Arya seemed to think you might like some assistance,” she smiled timidly and approached the large and engraved wooden trunk, a work of art with its decorative brackets, by the bed, “loose the cloak, the brooch, and the belt.”

Robb sighed but complied with her request. She meant well but he was unconvinced her opinion was anymore valid than Sister Mordane’s. Her small delicate hands rooted around inside the chest, carefully moving each item as she searched and eventually pulled out a number of leather items. A doubtful look spread across his face she wafted the vest at him. It isn’t meant to be worn over the wool but Sansa insisted he continued to wear this prickly finery. Next came the arm guards.

“Oh, Sansa, they will wonder why I now wear armour,” he murmured, almost whined, becoming increasingly discouraged. How tempting it was to send a rider to request his father to come home but it would take far too long to be of any use.

“You were wearing your cloak,” she smiled reassuringly, “they are likely not to have noticed. Wear your furs too next time. They make you seem very handsome and majestic”

He laughed, her words were chosen very carefully for this exact purpose, “you say that as though I am not always so.”

She chuckled as she finished working on the buckles and then took his arm, carefully smoothing out her largely plain woollen grey dress, and they walked from the room and along a stone paved corridor, the candle flames flickering as they pass.

“Robb, please be careful… they like spilling blood,” she implored as they neared the hall, her eyes full of concern for him.

“Who told you that?” Robb asked out of curiosity but remaining dubious. He knew they weren’t afraid of doing so but he was unwilling to accept the men on the beach, one of them especially, would actively seek out such a thing.

“Everyone!” Sansa insisted, her voice uncharacteristically defiant.

“They are not what we have been led to believe…” His mind wondered back to his charming guest in vibrantly coloured clothing on the side of the boat.

She looked doubtful and a little puzzled but said nothing as they walked through the door and in on Theon in animated discussion with the younger Stark children. He held his hand up high as he described the pouring of warm and sticky blood rushing over the hand and down the arm much to the glee of Arya and Bran.


	2. Theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This starts where they leave each other at the beach

It wasn’t until Robb turned back that their eyes had truly met. Theon had been keen on seeming unwavering in his confidence, enjoying the bashful looks of the lordling. He wondered if he was aware of just how expressive his face was. But those eyes were the sort you could get lost in, drown in. Not the murky blue of the seas, or even lakes, but the blue of the heavens. Forcing a smirk, he watched as Robb pulled the girl up from the dirt path. He had not thought to see a girl such as this in this place. She bore a resemblance to the brother whose name he had neglected to ask for, perhaps another sibling, but it was a small part of his mind that thought on such matters when Robb’s laugh rang out. Like every other emotion of his, his amusement spread throughout his features. It lit up his face. A face that was already too beautiful for comfort.

He was clapped on the back by his sister, Asha. A shield now slung across her back, the weight made her walk with exaggerated movements as she held the strap to keep it from digging into her chest. He knew what she was thinking, he was already being too familiar. He told himself it was necessary to gain the Saxon’s confidence. Though Robb was allowing them time, he hadn’t been trusting enough to let them all in. A compromise they could work with. He knew the deal, propose trading agreements, propose marriages, bide time.

“We’re lucky,” she smiled, “he seems almost as green as we could have hoped for.”

Theon nodded, smiling a little too feebly, “he’ll not be of any bother, of that we can be certain. The fate is already spun.” Their father would never act unless he was convinced that the omens were in his favour. He had made that mistake before and lost his two eldest sons, his heir and spare, left with a daughter and a disappointment. He could cling onto this belief that the outcome was already written, he was merely acting out the path that had already been marked.

This new acquaintance, Robb, it was already clear he was his family’s pride. His father had left him here in his place, all trussed up, with minimal involvement from others, though his brother had tried. A genuine smirk played on his lips then, thinking of the tetchy brother. Had he been his father’s heir things might have had gone very differently. But then how his temperament might have been as a trueborn son they would never know. 

“You did well,” Asha tried.

“I did nothing out of the ordinary,” he sighed, looking up into the ever-changing swirling skies. There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance and the clouds were brewing. It wouldn’t be long until they’d burst. Momentarily, he thought of his appearance, of how dishevelled he would look if they were to get caught up in the imminent storm.

She placed a knowing hand on his upper arm as they walked, smirking “he didn’t think so, you should have seen his face.” If she thought saying such a thing was helpful she was very much mistaken. As she stalked off up the gently sloping track, his stomach felt as turbulent as the sky. Still, it didn’t stop the sentiment bringing a smile to his face.

If he wanted the level of respect this skittish junior of his got so easily he was going to have to take it. Take it from him. Hopefully without force. Gods, how he hoped without force. But then he’d be able to remove him and enjoy other forms of entertainment without those coy eyes peeking at him. Without seeing the perfection that was denied to him. 

The warrior, Rodrik, Robb had called him, _already Robb_ , led them up the now steepening ascent to the fortifications at the top. It was impressive. Not as beautiful as other burghs or the towns, but definitely the most formidable he’d ever seen. They would never get through the defences in a direct offense, they’d be lucky to get to the crest of the hill without being pierced by arrows shot from the ramparts. The only other means by which they’d be able to take control of the settlement would be to starve them out in a siege, and the gods knew they lacked the patience for such an act. The weather was already turning, and they desired to be able to hole up for the winter and not camped out on exposed sea side lands. 

Two figures, besides the guards, watched them from above as they entered through the gates, moving to look from one side of the palisade to the other as they passed underneath. Flashing a grin, he looked up and winked at them both, full of his usual charm. Children had the tendency to become rather enthralled with them, and these children… well these children bore a resemblance to the young lord. These children had the potential of being of significant use to him. Their hair gleamed with the same colour as his, the colour of light through dark amber. Turning to look back ahead of him once more, he was well aware that they would both be racing their way down. They always did.

The courtyard they found themselves in was full of life. Full of the smells of the animals, the smoke, the filth. Full of the sounds of shouting, the pounding of a blacksmith’s hammer against the anvil, the bark of the dogs. It was an assault on the senses. The surrounding of the fort and the closeness of the buildings gave him a feeling of unease. This wasn’t a familiar space to him. Despite being so close to the sea it had none of the openness, the great expanse could not be seen. The only indication of it being there at all, once inside the enclosure, were the seabirds overhead.

Getting the feeling of someone watching, he turned to find the smiths eyes on his. A young broad chested man with dark hair and a face full of curiosity. They were distracted from each other by the bounding entrance of the girl from the track. The smith turned his attention to her, smiling fondly down at her as he scolded her affectionately for coming too close, and plunged the red-hot nail into water, creating a sizzle. When his eyes flickered back to Theon and away from her he realised they were gossiping about them and their companions and grinned back smugly, waving a greeting. To his credit, the smith, looking bemused, returned it with a cock of one of his eyebrows as he wiped his brow with a filthy cloth. Smiths were met with almost as much suspicion as they were, but respected a great deal more.

She spun, plaits flying as she did so, to follow the smiths line of sight. Then, acting casual, she approached him and Asha as the boys from the wall came to join her.

“What’s your name?”

“Why are you here?”

“Where are you from?”

Taken aback by the sudden barrage of questions from the youngsters, he and Asha looked at each other, sharing small laughs. Although curious, children weren’t normally this bold with them, preferring to follow them around cautiously.

“I’m not sure your parents would approve of you speaking with us,” said Asha in a tone of teasing scorn.

“Our parents aren’t here!” The smallest piped up instantaneously.

“Is that so…” Asha said as she and Theon shared a knowing look at the declaration that was not quite a revelation to them. They were indeed siblings. He wondered just how many children Eddard had.

“Get a move on!” Rodrik shouted back over his shoulder 

Together with the younger Starks, they trailed into the hall. It was dark and gloomy inside with minimal natural light. A young woman, who was sat on a bench by the hearth, looked up from her work, combing wool, as they entered, a look of shock flooding across her pretty doe eyed face. Her hands stilled immediately, and body froze, visibly swallowing as her eyes flicked between the pair of them before eventually settling on Asha. She looked as though she might stand and scurry away.

“Jeyne! Jeyne!” The smallest of the children streamed across the room, snapping her out of her gape. Pulling him up to sit beside her and setting aside the combs, she patiently set about getting him to help her to separate the long from short hairs of the fleece.

Theon sat on the opposite side of the fire from them and was quickly joined by the older siblings who’s names he discovered to be Bran and Arya. Their faces filled with awe as they dragged tales from him, both real and legends, as they waited for their brother. He was laid back on the hard wooden bench, acting out the moment at which Sigurd slays the dragon Farfnir from inside a pit, covering him in blood, a favourite with children, when Robb entered, the blood draining from his face. They hadn’t even got to any heart eating.

There was an elegant woman on his arm when he entered. Theon hadn’t expected him to be married, but then he was of an age, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Without the cloak and the pretentious headgear, he had more of a presence to him, he looked all the more bold for it. Forcing himself up from the bench with one fluid motion, he swung his feet around to sit up, kicking the rushes at his feet with his boots.

“Bran, Arya,” the woman called them over to her, her voice as clear ice and full of disapproval. Arya huffed as she got up from where she was sat, purposefully dragging her feet behind her.

Robb cleared his throat as though he needed to bring the focus to himself. Theon realised he must have been staring as Sansa led the small ones away. He wondered if the younger man was jealous of his interest. 

“I see you have been introduced to my younger brothers and sister, this is the last of them, the Lady Sansa.” 

He shouldn’t felt as relieved as he did. He saw it then, the colour of her eyebrows and the wisps of hair that escaped the headdress. 

“I’m not sure I’d say introduced, but yes, we have become acquainted,” he answered.

They exchanged pleasantries, ignoring any real purposes to the discussion until his stomach grumbled at the smell of roast meat and Robb led him to the table. He hadn’t had such a meal in quite some time. They hadn’t gone quite as far as to bring beef to the table but it was an improvement on the watery stews and stale bread they’d been living off at late. The heavenly smell of honey mixed with the sweet earthy scent of root vegetables greeted him next and he began to wonder how long they might be able to drag this out. Drag out being able to eat this food while watching Robb absentmindedly sucking the sticky honey from his fingers and licking it from his plump lips at each meal; lips glistening under candlelight.

“So?” Robb asked simply as Theon wrenched his eyes away from his mouth, directing them into his drink.

“So?” Theon looked puzzled at the question with no context.

“What do you want?” He asked bluntly. 

Theon laughed, clearly the ale had already got to Robb, his inhabitations had dropped considerably, “I’m not sure now’s the time for this, do you?”

“If I’m being honest…” he trailed off, looking hesitant. 

“Yes?” Theon asked, becoming curious.

Robb licked his lip again but out of nerves this time, sucking it in and giving it a little nip as he contemplated whether to go on.

“I can’t give you want,” he confessed, watching Theon carefully.

“You don’t know what I want!” 

He chuckled pleasantly at Theon and his despair, his eyes sparkling as he turned to look down at his food, “whatever it is, I am convinced I will not have the authority to grant it.”

The next time Robb licked his finger and went to suck the tip of his thumb he purposefully made a show of watching him, the elbow of the hand holding his drink leant on the table top casually. When he was caught in the act, the thumb slowed as it drew away in a manner that the dragging down of his lower lip might have been interpreted as deliberate if it had been done by someone other than him. The resulting blush flushed right from the collar of his woollen tunic to the tips of his tips of his ears, it was all the confirmation he needed that he wasn’t quite as innocent as he could have been. Like at the beach, he began to tug at the neck. He could imagine it becoming quite hot in this silly clothing. 

Edging a little closer up the bench to Robb, he glanced around to see if anyone was watching before he grazed a finger along his thigh beneath the table and his voice became husky, “what if only you can grant me what I want?”

Robb’s entire body jolted, and he instantly pulled away, pushing himself back from the table and stumbling a little as he jumped up.

“Robb!” Theon hissed under his breath as he wafted his hand toward the bench, motioning for him to sit as he tried to get him to calm down. This interaction was something neither of them would want to let on about.

“Don’t! Don’t call me that.” Though their voices were lowered they were still attracting attention. The next part he spoke loud enough for them all to hear, “I must pray now. Before I sleep.”

Theon could have groaned at that, and he resisted letting his head fall into his hands in favour of mutely watching as Robb marched away. He supposed he had been too forward considering just how prim and proper his kind were. He wasn’t sure just what he’d expected to happen.

At the last second before he disappeared, the door crashed open and in came his brother, soaked to the bone by the heavy downpours outside, water dripping from his hair and clothes. He called out after him, “Robb!”

Robb waited at the doorway for him to approach and the two spoke hushed words before turning to look in his and Asha’s direction, the brother’s eyes were dark and cold. He wagged his finger between them, speaking in a stern tone Theon had yet to hear from him, his words addressed to a man nearby by the wall, “I want guards on each of their doors tonight, and they are not to be with each other alone,” and like that he was gone without a single look back, his scowling brother in tow.

Asha turned to look at him as he cringed, her face full of questions. He downed the last of his ale while trying to look oblivious. She was wondering just what he’d done now but he was convinced this sudden change of character from Robb couldn’t just be over his actions, no matter how reckless he had been.

The room he was taken to was bare but not uncomfortable, an improvement to the ship’s hull beneath the benches. As he sat on the edge of the bed it sagged in the middle and the straw of the mattress under the fabric shifted slightly. Lying down and staring blankly at the daubed wall the last thing he expected at that moment was a hesitant knock at the door, as though the person at the door outside cared about whether he was being disturbed. He gathered up his shirt from the side of the bed in case it was necessary and somewhat ashamedly picked up a knife and concealed it within the linen. When he opened the door the picture outside was a sight to behold, Robb stood in the doorway in a new loose top for sleeping. It fell slightly to one side, revealing his collar and part of his chest.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked sheepishly, cheeks already pink. His hair was already tousled when he reached up to thread his fingers through the curls at the back of his head in an endearing manner.

Theon forced himself to recover from the surprise and held himself back from telling him he could be more comfortable and pulling him inside as he would have if another had come to him. He needed to proceed with caution lest he scare him off. His face was harder to school and it broke into a mischievous grin. It must have taken some guts for him to get himself here. That, or a great deal of arousal. Probably both.

“Come in and find out?” Theon asked, jerking his head into the room and stepping aside, already rebuking himself for the leery way in which it left his mouth.

Much to his surprise, Robb haltingly nodded and timidly entered the room, closing the door behind himself.


	3. Ygritte + Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Full disclosure - no evidence of Picts having tattoos (that I know of? It's not to say they didn't... its popular with people who live on 'islands' but there aren't like mummies or anything?) but I love the imagery on picture stones, which I can't get in here, and she probably wouldn't be wearing war paint in this bit, and how can I have a Pict that isn't 'painted'. Anyways, it is possible but... ha.
> 
> I wouldn't describe this as incredibly smutty but there is a passage of that kind of nature.

**Ygritte**

With the sky finally darkening as the sun set behind the clouds, Ygritte crept around the side of the house, a hand against the dry-stone wall whilst keeping to the shadows. Thankfully, everyone was busy huddled inside around the fire when she slipped out. They wouldn’t miss her absence with the sheer quantity of bodies around. Smoke billowed out through the thatch roof overhead mixed with the smell of food she would unfortunately miss, but somethings, someone, was worth the sacrifice.

Taking hold of the top of the wooden fence of the inner enclosure she pulled herself up and swung her legs over, thankful for wearing breeches, but then she’d done this enough so know the sensible way of doing things. They’d been at this over a year at this point. Sliding down the grassy embankment and into the ditch of the defensive earthworks she paused in the shadows, her heart raced as she glanced around to make sure she wasn’t being watched before slipping up and over into the next. The next part of the journey was the riskiest, running through the animal enclosures. Risky, but not as risky as out in the open on the track, at least there was no moonlight that night to illuminate the surroundings in its silvery light.

It was quite the journey to get to the hut built for watching over the sheep and storing the supplies of hay cut from the surrounding land, it required traversing the soggy peat ground, covered in lumps and pumps. Land whose ownership was contested. This was how they came to meet, both sides unwilling to back down from their claim and finding themselves at a standoff. She dreaded to think of the outcome should her kin discover the forbidden relationship with a Saxon, and not just any old Saxon, a Stark of Winterfell, a wolf.

It was almost as cold inside as it was out inside the stone built hut. She lit some of the smuggled tallow candles they kept there as she waited for him to arrive. Though the distance was further from Winterfell, he would ride there, setting off at sunset as she had, and so should arrive around the same time. The pungent smell of the burning fat mixed with that of the sweet rotting hay on the bottom of the pile was hard to handle with no distraction, especially on a nauseous empty stomach.

As a flash of lighting illuminated the space through the small ventilation window at the top of the wall she began to grow concerned about what was taking him so long, worrying as to whether he was going to show. Though it was rare, this sometimes happened; one of them occasionally couldn’t get away. Neither of them ever spoke of the future, both scared to admit the truth while both put off marriage to another. 

Impatience taking over, she stood outside as the heavens opened. It was the worst kind of rain, a cold and hard drizzle, the kind that soaks you through, blowing in off the sea and sideways onto her face, rolling down and off her nose. It made her squint in her attempt to see into the distance.

Jon barely paused when he finally arrived and swiftly dismounted. Pulling her to him and clutching her face, he sunk them into kisses as the harsh rain dripped from them, and pushing her back inside. He made light work of her clothing and threw a cloak down onto the hay. Curious, she wondered what had gotten him so riled up, but she enjoyed this side to him and was reluctant to put a stop to it in order to ask questions that were unimportant to the activity.

His body was hard and wonderfully hot in the cold air as she sunk down onto him slowly, savouring the moment. It was always a favourite moment of both of theirs and she knew he loved the noise she made when he first filled her. Frustrated with how slowly she was rolling her hips, he took hold of her, digging his thumbs in as he pulled her up and down against him while biting his lip, his brow furrowed. Some nights they might slowly rock themselves towards oblivion, stopping before the climax each time just to make the finish all the more sweet, exchanging slow and sensual kisses. This was not to be one of those nights.

She closed her eyes while reaching up to hold back her hair on her head, stretching out her body as her lips parted. It had the desired effect and Jon released a hip to grasp hold of one of her breasts while groaning. Sitting up, he kissed her passionately, hungrily, before unexpectedly flipping her over onto her back, provoking a shocked laugh.

**JON**

Almost immediately after the flip, Ygritte moved to pull her legs up and over his shoulders. He knew she was always keen on this position and was ready to assist her, running a hand over the back of her leg. Never one to completely relinquish control, she was fond of the leverage it gave her as much as the angle. The ability to rock back against him. This was one of the many things he loved about this wild woman, the way in which she was never a passive participant. No matter how worked up he got her she’d still play against him. The noises she’d been making while on top had been enjoyable, but though they were not forced they weren’t noises she couldn’t have held back if she’d tried, with the change the cries he created couldn’t be masked.

While lying back in a sleepy afterglow, he traced the blue lines of one of his favourite tattoos on her bare skin which was covered in these stylised animals, a wolf. She laughed softly at him as he was no doubt tickling her with the light trail of his finger tip over her side. Her red hair spread around her head like a halo. A thing of untamed beauty covered in pretty freckles.

Eventually, she turned to him and spoke, still a little breathless. “What’s troubling you?”

He stared up at the roof covered in cobwebs with a swallow’s nest in the corner, sighing heavily and thinking back to the beach. 

“A ship came in today… Danes” With one particularly obnoxious and arrogant one among them.

“Were they Vikings?” She asked, perhaps wondering why he was so downtrodden and yet still here with her.

“No… well, they claim not be. Why do you immediately ask such a question?”

She hummed slightly as she tried to translate what she wanted to say in her head, “there have been raids. In the north. Many ships are there.”

“Why did you not tell me?” He snapped, sitting up, anything could have been happening at Winterfell.

She propped herself up on an elbow, pulling a fur up over her chest, “I did not think it important before… and, we were a little busy.” Her nimble hand trailed over him as she tried to rouse some interest once more, to distract him. He wasn’t about to be tricked out of his irritation.

“Of course, it’s important,” he said, frustrated.

She rolled her eyes as she let herself fall back again. “Well! Sorry!”

“I have to go,” he stated, matter of fact.

“Fine, I don’t want you here like this.”

His hand reached between her legs, slick from her desire, making her whimper. “Liar.”

“Get gone,” she said as she slapped his chest from the cheek of it while laughing, pushing him away.

“I know what you want.”

“You know nothing!”

He lent in for one last kiss and stood, pulling his clothing back on as she reached out to pinch his bum, making him jump. Turning to grab the hand, he brought it to his mouth, giving her finger tips a kiss. “Enjoy yourself.”

The rain outside was relentless and bitterly cold as he pulled himself up onto the horse, he missed the feel of her warm body against his and the heat they’d created inside the small space. Even so, he rode back to Winterfell as hard as he had to get to her. The waves of the sea crashed violently up against the cliff as he passed them and far up the shore at the beach, flooding into the caves on the far end. His face was numb by the time he reached the stables.

Dragging a hand over his face, he flicked the water down off his face as he entered the hall to find Robb already leaving his guests.

“Robb!” He cried out, marching past the other inhabitants of the room, the smells of food made him painfully aware of how hungry he was. There was food in a pack on the horse he’d completely forgotten about that he had meant to share with Ygritte.

Robb stopped immediately, looking back anxiously as though he already knew something was wrong with their predicament. His fists clenched as he dug his nails into his palm with a pained expression on his face.

“You alright?” Jon asked, concerned.

“Yes, I just have a headache. I was about to go to the chapel, I need to clear my head. I have a lot to think on and I am in need of guidance,” he paused and looked at him up and down, “you’ve been with her again?”

“Yes,” He answered, hastily moving on so as to avoid that conversation, “listen, before we leave – I think it might be wise to keep an eye on them both… She says there are a number of Viking ships up the coast, raiding up there.”

Robb nodded as his eyes dropped, looking very much subdued as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Calling over to Jory he pointed his finger between the Danes, finally taking control of the situation as he should have done at the beach. He could be far too trusting for his own good sometimes and always had been. He’d been incredibly easy to play tricks on as a child, particularly when they played in the caves of the beach.

“I want guards on each of their doors tonight, and they are not to be with each other alone.” 

A wave of relief washed over him as he and Robb left the egotistic Danes in the hall in the hands of the guards without a single look back. He was finally seeing sense. 

The chapel was still and quiet when they arrived. Quite easily the most attractive place in the castle, it easily kept an air of reverence, inspiring silence as they stepped inside. Robb immediately dropped to his knees before the altar, his head bowed. This was unusual for him. He would sit and pray certainly but rarely did he take it this seriously, he wasn’t particularly pious, though more so than some of their siblings. Jon suspected that this was more for show than anything else. He strove to be the golden child his parents desired at all costs. _Perhaps_ , he thought, _the heathens have caused him to look deeper into his faith_. Lowering himself down beside Robb, his sword hitting the floor, he took the occasional look sideways to see if he was going to stop anytime soon but he went on and on moving his lips as though speaking to himself, speaking to God.

Tentatively, he reached out to put a hand on Robb's shoulder, a silent query as to if he was alright.

Robb exhaled as though he’d been tensed up and finally, making the sign of the cross and murmuring the words along with it, he stood up with one last look up at the window.

“I’m just tired that’s all,” he muttered with a weary smile, “it’s just been a long day.” Jon highly suspected he’d been waiting to exit the chapel when he next spoke, “how did things start… with her? Do you not feel… guilt?”

 _Oh, this is what this is about_. His mind raced as he tried to think who Robb could possibly have in mind when he asked this question. “Well, sometimes. But not… not guilt because of some higher being or something if that’s what you mean… I-… Well I feel guilty for doing this to her. It can’t continue like this. I wouldn’t be permitted to wed her, nor her me. I worry she might… she might get with child. She insists she has everything under control but it’s still hard to completely push the nagging thoughts away… and what if she drives away someone who might be good for her in the mean time? I had to leave her tonight and it’s never-ending, the feeling that I should always be elsewhere.”

He nodded, a contemplative look on his face as they made their way to their chambers.


	4. Rob II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I can't resist tattoos. But there is more to suggest he might have had a tattoo. Also, krakens aren't exactly contemporary or local but, you know, how could I not?
> 
> Other historical issues I noted as I was writing - breakfasts and breeches!

He hadn’t planned to go in, hadn’t planned to give in to the urges so readily. That was what he told himself, but he realised he didn’t know what else he could be there for once he’d knocked on the door. The sight of a shirtless Theon had left him with little remaining restraint, as did that grin that spread across his face; as though he truly was happy to see him there. Not just the nearest available offer. Unable to keep his eyes from running across his body, his sight hit what he assumed to be a legendary sea monster from one of the stories he told tattooed across his side. He wanted to know everything about his world in that moment. By the time Theon asked him to go inside he was all too eager, though he knew he shouldn’t be. He was as breath-taking as he could have ever dreamed under that tunic. His imagination hadn’t done him justice.

A wave of panic flooded over him as he closed the door behind himself, but Theon’s new smile was almost caring and empathetic as he turned to toss the things he was holding onto the bed. A knife’s blade glinted as it fell, and guilt washed over him that he might have made him feel so ill at ease here. The smile was a type he’d not yet seen on him, but it suited him all the same. He wanted to ask about the ships, about his purpose here, but Theon was making it incredibly difficult. His thoughts left little room for such matters.

As Theon reached out to rest a hand against his upper arm he was sure it was intended to be reassuring, but his heart faltered at his touch. The words of Father Luwin preaching ran through his mind as his eyes hit the silver amulet on the leather strap against the Dane’s chest. He was still staring at it when he felt a thumb brush gently against his lips and the finger of the same hand tilted up his chin to force him to look this terrifyingly alluring man in his intense eyes. Eyes that looked like they might devour him.

“Is this what you’re here for? Lord?”

Robb nodded as he swallowed. It wasn’t a good enough response for Theon, who eyed him carefully, searching his expression for the uncertainty there. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“You told me not to call you Robb,” Theon teased and went back to raising an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“I came to grant you your request…” His stomach dropped, suddenly embarrassed and very much regretting being so forward and crude. It sounded stupid as it left his mouth and suddenly he felt himself backtracking a little. “That is, if that’s what you want?” 

Theon’s mouth turned into a broad grin, impressed and shocked at his sudden bold words. “Well aren’t you full of surprises?” He asked as he leant slightly down to meet Robb’s lips, pulling him a little closer by the waist and giving him a firm squeeze as his thumb stroked just above his hip bone. The kiss was closed mouthed and soft lipped until Robb’s lips, with what seemed like a mind of their own, parted and Theon enthusiastically took up the invitation. 

“I have a request of my own,” Robb murmured as he closed his eyes, struggling to concentrate as Theon’s lips travelled against his neck and he felt stubble against the sensitive skin there. His hands moved up onto his shoulders, hard muscular shoulders, still feeling a little ill at ease with touching him.

“Hmmm?” Theon managed against his skin, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. Even his warm exhaled breath was tantalising.

“I want to know why you’re here.”

“I came to get myself a bashful young lord with piercing eyes and a smile I could become infatuated with,” Theon whispered seductively against his ear.

“Please… Please just tell me, I need to know. I need to know before this goes any further.“ 

Theon sighed somewhat impatiently. “My father wants to be able to use your bay, it’s conveniently placed and suitable.” He bit at his lip softly and tugged at it slightly with his teeth before kissing at the same spot.

“There are ships up the coast, whose are they?” Robb asked at a gap in Theon’s affections, pulling away to look at his face, to judge for any attempt at a lie.

“They’re under the control of an Earl named Euron,” he wasn’t at all hesitant with his answer which filled Robb with confidence. He seemed sincere. “Are we done with the interrogation now?”

“Yes…” The temptation becoming too great, Robb ran his hands down over his lean body, marvelling at every inch of it as he fought to override the feeling of shame. 

Theon paused to watch Robb and the trail of his hands and eyes as he appraised him. “Good. Now, is there still someone outside the door?”

“No, I sent him away,” he breathed, feeling himself flush red as though he hadn’t already admitted what he wanted. “I said I would be fine.”

“You’re going to be more than fine when I’m done with you,” Theon promised as his hands threaded through his curls.

He’d shared kisses, taken secretly in dark corners, with girls and while it had been pleasant in a way it was of a different nature to this, an entirely different beast. Theon felt and smelt different, not a smell he would be able to describe but it reminded him of the sea, invigorating and relaxing in the same breath. He must have taken a noticeable inhale as his face sunk into Theon’s neck for he snickered before pushing him back lightly against the wall and helped him out of his shirt.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said as his hands toyed with the laces to Robb’s breeches. He waited for some form of signal to which Robb felt he could only respond with a needy kiss. 

What came as a shock was the moment at which Theon dropped to his knees before him. His mind flashed with the sensation of his own knees hitting the stone flagged floor of the chapel. Hands hovering over Theon’s head, he was unsure as to whether they wanted to encourage or to usher him away, his stomach sick with the anticipation and guilt. As he looked down to Theon he met his eyes and took hold of one of the hovering hands, threading his fingers through Robb’s own.

Theon began to gently kiss down and across his lower abdomen, and Robb soon discovered he could encourage more with a squeeze of the hand and a rub of his thumb against it. After a while Theon must have gathered it was purposeful as he felt a smirk against his thigh. When he did finally feel his warm wet mouth around him the shock of the sensation caused his hand to fly open as he moaned but quickly found its way back to Theon’s, clutching it in a firm grip. Torn between watching Theon or simply throwing back his head against the wall, his free hand finally made it to Theon’s head.

After the climax he let himself sink down against the wall, chest still heaving as though he’d physically exerted himself. He felt his brows pull up in the middle and Theon’s lips press against his forehead as his hand cupped his face. _How could something so sinful feel so good?_

“Fuck…” he breathed, and quickly turned to concern, “I-… You-…?”

“Don’t you worry, I’m fine. I’m not done with you yet anyway. Though… maybe try not to break my hand in future,” Theon laughed, to which Robb could only manage a satiated smile which entertained him further and earnt Robb a soft kiss on the lips along with pats against his cheek. _Future_. He found himself wondering if, should his father grant them permission to use the bay, he’d see more of him. How lucky he was that he should wash up on his shore, especially while his mother and father were absent. Something he had not thought when down at the beach earlier that same day.

He left Theon in the early hours. He shouldn’t have stayed this long. As he suspected, there was indeed someone outside the door by that point. Never had he felt so relieved by the lazy nature of some of their servants as he slipped passed the drunken sleeping oath with his legs stretched out into the corridor. No matter how hard he tried, sleep did not come readily, and he laid staring up to the ceiling when the door creaked open and Bran, wrapped in furs, slipped in and climbed into the bed beside him.

“I dreamt that the sea came to Winterfell,” he whispered as Robb tugged him in to his embrace. His little brother was always full of dreams and tales, his imagination was too wild for his own good. At least Sansa’s dreaming was always that; there were no nightmares when it came to her, only wishful thinking. Ordinarily it was their parents who would find him in their bed. On one occasion they’d had the door barred and he had climbed up through the window.

“The sea is already at Winterfell, Bran,” Robb responded, wearily trying to be patient with him. Clearly the child wasn’t quite thinking properly.

“Drowned men were floating in yard.” His voice was full of distress, the whites of his eyes visible in the darkness.

“The waves would never reach this high, they could never breach the palisade, there is nothing to worry about. I promise. Try to get some sleep. I’m here, I will keep you safe.”

It took some time for Bran to sleep, but eventually he was snoring softly, and yet sleep continued to allude Robb. The clouds and rain had now passed, and the white light of the full moon flooded in through the window. In the quiet of the night he could hear the crash of ferocious waves hitting the rocks. He knew Bran was being irrational and yet the sense of foreboding from his words was overwhelming. 

Neither Theon nor his unusual sister were in the hall for breakfast when morning came, to which he was between relief and disappointment. It forced the decision that he should continue his day as it was usually intended so he went to meet Jon outside with sword and shield in hand. Jon’s eyes were searching him inquisitively as they walked but he chose not to ask or even say anything. The day was beautifully mild and the air sweet and crisp from the overnight downpour and he intended to enjoy it.

They were mid spar when eventually, for Robb had been glancing around at regular intervals – hoping for an opportunity to prove himself, he spotted him. There, walking with Arya and Bran in tow, was Theon, looking as stunning as ever, pacing across the yard with long steps and clutching at his bow and two smaller versions. How had he so quickly enchanted so many of them? His heart warmed at the sight of Arya about to get her opportunity, her face full of joy as she bounded alongside her brother. That’s when it came, the side of Jon’s blade against him, he hadn’t even attempted to block him with the shield, hadn’t been paying any mind to him whatsoever. When his attention turned, Jon’s eyes were all knowing with a myriad of emotions flooding through them while his face stayed as serious as ever. Something had clearly clicked.

“That was _unnecessary_!” Robb screamed, the only way to release his panic, lashing out at Jon.

“Pay attention in future, just be thankful I turned the blade.” His eyes glanced around for a moment as he feigned a problem with the strap of his shield on his arm and got closer to Robb as if to ask for him to have a look, “and, that it was me. If that was what I think it was you need to stop being so obvious about it.” 

“I was merely enjoying how excited Arya is,” Robb insisted.

“As you say,” Jon nodded though his face said differently. He turned to walk away before hesitating and turning to look him in the eye, “Robb, you can tell me things, you know?”


	5. Asha + Jeyne

**Asha**

_“I could show you how if you’d like?”_

Jeyne, sweet Jeyne, had misinterpreted Asha’s captivation of watching her petite hands teasing wool from the distaff and the hypnotic whirling rhythm of the spindle whorl she’d wedge between her thighs at regular intervals as an interest in wool working. How she’d tried not to laugh at this suggestion. 

_“You’ve got the wrong person,”_ she’d laughed, feasibly a little too harshly.

Jeyne had smiled kindly in return, with understanding in her eyes, as she began to wind the spun thread around the spindle without a single look down at her hands, not in the least bit offended. It was second nature to her as Asha’s tricks with a knife were to her. There had been attempts to teach her once before. The memories of the spindle falling regularly to the floor with a clatter and the unravelling of the uneven thread were vivid in her mind, but so too were her mother’s reassuring words.

The fire in the hearth had crackled as it illuminated them in a warm glow, spreading its heat as the winds howled outside. Jeyne herself could be described as warm, from the brown of her hair and eyes, the smile of her pretty lips, and the warmth of her character.

Sat upon an upturned bucket, Asha watched as Theon crouched down beside Arya and minorly corrected her posture with her legs outstretched. The fierce natured girl was wasted here, she would make a good little protégé should she be given the chance. Her attention never faltered as she drew and released despite the hectic nature of the yard, and the constant comings and goings. Revelling in Theon’s praise, she was being a little too smug for her brother’s taste.

“You look as though you might pinch her away,” laughed a merry voice. There, at her side, was Jeyne, her half apron gathered in front of her, containing feed, and hair bound loosely. The loose locks of wavy hair tumbled down around her face, blowing softly in the light breeze as she shielded her eyes from the low late autumn sun. She smiled with a hint of envy as she watched Theon with Arya as he pushed her elbow up to change the angle slightly. Theon would always garner attention, he had from a young age, and he was getting more so than usual here. Curiosity would always be a draw.

“Perhaps I will,” chuckled Asha, looking back to the pair of them as she cut off a piece of an apple she was holding. The watery porridge that had been served that morning hadn’t been to either her own or Theon’s tastes. She suspected the girl might be quite willing, though she did have a strong attachment to some of her siblings.

Jeyne’s lips pursed as she smirked and walked away and towards the flock of chickens who were becoming restless with her leisurely pace, casting her arm across as she scattered the grain. She retraced this trip over the course of multiple tasks until she walked out with two buckets and perched against post, laughing heartily with the smith with a little too much familiarity. 

During her struggle back with the two buckets full of water from the well she stopped by her once more, setting them on the floor, causing them to slosh over a little and muddy the dirt floor. She didn’t seem to mind too much as she wiped her hands on the apron. 

“Still at it I see?” Jeyne asked in dulcet tones.

“Mmmm… I could ask him for you if you’d like a go?” Asha offered, pushing away bitter feelings.

“I um… well…,“ she became instantly flustered at the idea, a picture of a girl who had taken a fancy to Theon, “I’m not so sure that’s a terribly good idea. I’m afraid I have little skill with those kinds of things, and besides I do not think I should ever have a use for it.”

It was more of a well thought out decline of her offer than Asha had expect, it wasn’t based purely on embarrassment. Embarrassment at the idea of her stance being physically manipulated by her brother.

“Not that I don’t have any interest in those kinds of things, of course,” she quickly added, “but there are perhaps more practical methods of defending oneself for those such as me.” 

“Oh?”

“Well, it is unlikely that I should ever find myself with a bow with an enemy at a distance,” she explained.

She had a point. 

“You’ve been thinking on this?”

“Yes, well, I was watching you, you see, and it got me thinking…” Suddenly shy, her hand wafted in the direction of Asha’s knife.

“Really?” Asha asked with a board grin, wondering if it had simply just the knife she had been watching.

Jeyne nodded meekly, tucking the same unruly strand of hair back behind her ear as she peeked from beneath her long lashes.

“I could show you how if you’d like?” she offered, enjoying Jeyne’s blush on her rosy cheeks.

“I would like that very much. Would it be too much trouble if I should finish the morning chores and met you afterwards?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you.”

She picked up the buckets once more and began to walk away, her green dress swaying with her hips.

“Hold on, give me at least one of those, you’re going to break yourself!”

“I will not, I do this enough,” she laughed a laugh that indicated she knew just how poor a show she was making of this.

Asha took hold of one of the buckets stubbornly, brushing Jeyne’s beautifully soft hands. Soft from their routine work with lanolin coated wool. Her mind wondered to how they might feel against the skin of her body.

**Jeyne**

“Shhh!” She laughed with her finger to her lips, heart racing from the thrill of the adventure as she dropped to the chapel’s cool stony floor, dress spreading around her, while Asha kept watch at the door.

Her hands used a tool stolen from Gendry to work up one of the flags and lever it enough to push it with her feet. Delighting in Asha’s surprise and wide eyes she slipped through the hole in the floor and waited for Asha’s feet to appear above as she lit a candle. The hard part had always been getting the stone back over the hole. The journey down the damp siege tunnel into the caves below was always perilous but Jeyne found it was a little more difficult without the low centre of gravity of a child. Asha was having no such trouble and she watched the way her agile sinewy body moved in clothing normally reserved for men in awe while attempting not to stare. 

Clambering down over the rocks, she gathered up her skirts to better see the placement of her thin leather shoed feet. The further to the cave entrance the more rock pools and slippery seaweed covered stone there was to avoid. Her hands grazed over the barnacles as she finally slipped down onto the damp sands.

There was not a soul on the beach, much to their relief, allowing for an undisturbed training during which Jeyne was prone to giggling in a self-deprecating manner each time she found something particularly difficult. Asha was being far more patient with her than she was used to being treated. 

“Where is the furthest you’ve ever been?” Jayne quizzed as they sat on one of the sand dunes, taking it in turns swigging from a skin, and letting the dry fine sand trickle through her fingers.

“Not very far really. Manu.” Asha elaborated after seeing Jeyne frown while she tried to place the name, “it is past Cumbraland, and across the sea.”

“I have never been away from Stark lands and so, to me, it seems very exotic.”

“Perhaps I should pinch you away,” Asha grinned, giving her a little nudge that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Perhaps we shall go to Frankia,” Jeyne returned the joke after she’d recovered, smiling as she looked out across the sea, falling into a dream. A dream of feeling the rock of a ship beneath her, of being amongst the waves. A dream of adventure alongside Asha. A dream that was unobtainable to her kind.

“That’s quite the ambition… Hang on, I think I have something you may like,” she searched around in a draw string purse attached to her belt and pulled out something that flashed silver, a coin, “a dirham.”

“A dirham?” Jeyne asked, filled with wonder as she ran a finger tip over what she assumed to be the script of an unknown language. Not that she would have been able to read something even if it were written in English, of course.

Asha was a marvel, cool and calm, and full of knowledge about things she didn’t know existed to know about. Bold and skilful. She must have thought her foolish and unworldly, and yet she was sat here humouring her.

“From lands past Frankia. They are said to travel along the rivers of the Rus, being passed from hand to hand, and now it shall be yours,” Asha explained, pulling up one of her knees into her chest and running the hand of the arm propped on it through her short dark hair.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she shook her head, folding over Asha’s outstretched hand onto the coin, “it is worth more than I am.”

“Do not say things like that about yourself.” Her knuckles brushed lightly against Jeyne’s cheek.

“I have nothing to give you in return,” Jeyne told her, almost a whisper.

“That is why I’m giving it to you.”

Feeling tears in her eyes and becoming overcome, Jeyne planted a feather-light lingering kiss on the corner Asha mouth as means of offering her thanks, somewhere between the cheeks and the lips. Somewhere between right and wrong. 

“Sorry, I-… I’m… I…” Jeyne stammered, struggling to find the words.

“Jeyne, there is nothing to apologise for,” she uttered while brushing the tears from Jeyne’s eyes and pulled her back in, gentle and patient with Jeyne’s awkward first kiss as her hands cradled her face. Jeyne let out a small embarrassed laugh as their foreheads met and Asha nudged her nose with her own, returning with an increasingly desperate kiss.

“Take me with you… Please,” begged Jeyne between kisses.

“It’s not a life for you.”

“I can learn. I can be useful.”

“It’s not about learning, you deserve to be safe.”

“I am not guaranteed safety. I have no control over my life,” said Jeyne with a voice full of woe.

An awkward silence descended between them, heightening the sounds around them; the gentle rattle of the grasses, the strange noises of the insects, noises of sea birds, the sounds of the sea. Asha couldn’t understand what it was like to be trapped. 

“We should head back, soon the caves will be cut off by the tide and we would not want to go back in through the gates,” Asha determined.

The return trip was tiresome. Though there was less chance of slipping, the climb inflicted pain into her muscles. There was, however, now the rush of being assisted by Asha.

Below the chapel, Asha brought them to a halt and crouched down before her, taking hold of a foot to rest it on her leg.

“Pass me a rag from your hair?” She requested.

Jeyne silently obliged, letting the hair fall and cascade over her shoulders, and watched as Asha produced a small knife. Carefully, she drew up her dress and brought it up past her knee, pushing it up her thigh, forcing Jeyne to hold her breath. A bolt ran through her as Asha’s bare hand touched her as she set the cold hard knife against her skin and bound it there. Mesmerised and daring not move, her eyes met Asha’s as she felt the hand linger.

_Say it._

“Now, its there if you need it. You know, ordinarily the women of our culture would wear a knife from their apron straps, along with beautiful coloured glass beads. You should have your own, they would be well placed on you.”

_Say it. _“I am to be married… it scares me.”__

__“What about it scares you?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure - you probably realise I find this necessary at this point - I have been looking into siege tunnels and I can only find one example of these during this time period, it fits almost exactly (goes to a cave etc) but.. they've lost the entrance? Something like that? Anyway, I'm not particularly happy about it but I've been struggle to come up with an alternative.


	6. Theon II

Both Arya and Bran had spun to look at their brothers as Robb’s curses rang out across the yard, but with some gentle encouragement Theon had coaxed them away. He couldn’t help but find Robb’s fury humorous and, if he was being honest, somewhat intriguing. Moments later he had stalked past them, seething and determinedly looking straight ahead, his jaw clenched. Intruding thoughts distracted him as he attempted to tutor the small Starks. Thoughts of kissing the way his face scrunched up away, of replacing it with an expression of ecstasy.

Arya tossed her plaits over each shoulder as she straightened her posture, and shifted her foot position slightly, ready to nock another arrow. He was vaguely aware of Asha and a woman with a cheery voice conversing behind them. It was proving more difficult to get her by herself that he had thought. 

“Like this?” Arya quizzed, desperate for acknowledgment and praise.

“That’s right,” he laughed, “go ahead. You’re a natural.”

She stuck her tongue out playfully at Bran and was returned a scoff.

“Ay! Concentrate, you,” he light-heartedly chided, ruffling the top of her head until some of the hair had come loose. 

Sensing his sister return from helping the girl who had been in the hall the night before with a couple of buckets, he stepped backwards casually until he was beside her, scuffing up the dirt covered ground. 

He cocked an eyebrow but declined to comment as she flashed a smirk. 

“Tonight,” She said simply. “We should take advantage of the new moon and the gloomy weather.” Her head tilted to indicate the cloud cover growing on the horizon.

He had known this was coming, of course, but that didn’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, like the feeling of a boat falling from the crest of a wave. It was possible now that there would be no opportunity so be with Robb for a second time and the prospect was nauseating. As the hectic life of Winterfell went on around him he felt his own world still, lost in thought.

“Theon?”

“Sorry, I’m with you.”

“A little tired perhaps?” She teased with ease and he managed a wry smile.

He doubted that if it weren’t for needing a plausible reason for Asha to be afforded respect by these Saxons that his father would ever have sent him here, yet here he was with her playing the role of his subordinate. Should they succeed here he’d gain the respect he deserved, but that was provided he betrayed the agreement of trust; an undesirable prospect to contemplate.

“I don’t tire,” he quipped with cocky air about him, causing her to snort.

“Enamoured then?”

His lips turned into a lopsided smile laced with sarcasm at her attempted wit as an arrow hit the target with a thud.

Robb was strangely absent for the rest of the day, his oldest sister too; he’d left the younger with Asha and her axe. It might have been a figment of his imagination but it seemed as though eyes were on him and the atmosphere had become tense in comparison to the previous evening.

That night when there came a knock at the door Theon restrained himself from appearing too eager, but it was needless for the door was flung open and he was faced with a burly guard rather than Robb.

“The lord requires your presence.”

Theon supressed a snigger and allowed himself to be led away, considering the implications and how to rectify the situation with Asha should he not be able to get to her.

Robb’s chamber was considerably more comfortable than his own, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised that Robb had chosen to request him to go there. Was it a request? Or a demand? Robb’s expression and body language suggested it might well have been a demand. Sat surrounded by papers at a desk he allowed Theon to stand wondering as he continued to finish his work, leaving him to stew in the anxiety. Eventually, Robb held out a letter.

“What does it say?” Theon asked, and Robb’s anger faded from his face momentarily, whether it be from pity or the desire to think that he didn’t have a clue as to what it might say.

Standing, and snatching it back from him, he snapped, “my parents, they’ve been taken prisoner.”

Theon lowered his eyes as he weighed up the options, eventually shrugging and portraying indifference, “what’s it to me?”

“By your people.”

The irony was that Robb did have reason to distrust him, to be angry with him, but this wasn’t it. He was fuming, his posture altogether different from how it had been. He seemed taller, broader. Theon could see it now, the lord in him, his authoritative air, which only became more evident when one of his men was ordered to rouse the able-bodied men from the surrounding villages. His hedonistic side marvelled at the sight, longed to coax a little more action form him, to tempt him.

Both of Robb’s hand threaded through his hair as despaired, clasping at the back of his head, anger subsiding into worry. Eyes shifting occasionally as he thought, he paced the room until Theon reached out a hand to still him. Reacting as though the touch burnt, he pulled away and snarled.

“What do you know of this?”

“Nothing, I swear it… my lord.” 

That had his attention, tracing for any signs of sarcasm in the tone and finding only charm he turned to regard him.

“I told you-“

“I wanted to…” he said as he smirked, using Robb’s momentary perplexion as an opportunity to approach him. His eyes were unsure, his movement hesitant as Theon’s hand trailed down his chest, until he snapped and took hold of his wrist. Biting his lip, he closed his eyes as he tried to regain some composure which became undone as Theon lent in to his ear for the kill, brushing his lips against his neck. “Go on, have your way with me, wicked thing that I am.”

“You know I don’t think of you like that.”

“You don’t, hmm?” Theon toyed with the small and plain silver cross at his chest. “What would your priest say about that?”

“What do you care, sinner?” Humour sparked in his voice as he dragged a thumb up along his jaw to his chin, encouraging him to bear his neck, to which he was all too willing.

The wall came up against his back as Robb used his natural power to force him up against it, the hand still trapping his wrist bringing it up above them as he pushed his knee between his legs and the free hand dipping under his clothing the caress his waist and gripping his hip roughly.

“Is this what you want?” Robb asked, grinning.

“More,” he breathed, looking him in the eye, “make me yours.”

*

Robb groaned slightly as Theon pulled from his embrace, tugging him back for a sleepy and close eyed kiss, and murmuring contentedly as his tongue invaded his mouth and threaded a hand through his dark hair. Theon chortled into his needy kiss as he lazily attempted to pull him on top of him, grasping at his arse.

“Stay,” he whispered, half asleep.

“I have to go, I’m sorry.” The gravity of the situation hit him as the words escape his mouth. His hand found and cupped Robb’s face, who smiled as he interpreted Theon’s tone to mean he is sorry to be missing further pursuits of pleasure. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I don’t want to. I wish things were different.”

“Don’t then.”

“I must.”

He knew he should restrain him, possibly for his own good. Though it wasn’t possible to get him out of there, it might have been possible to mitigate the potential for violence, but then the guilt if something happened while he was he wasn’t able to defend himself would have been overwhelming. He told himself Robb and his siblings were too valuable for serious harm to come to them as his hand reached the cold door handle and he looked back to him sprawled out amongst the furs. Would Asha go ahead he didn’t join her? It wasn’t a risk worth taking.

Approaching her door, he resolved that the best course of action was to plead with her, beg a rethink. To take the easily found wealth, most of which was all in one place; the chapel. She must have heard him as the door opened before he’d reached it.

“Get in,” she hissed.

“I’m not late, am I?”

“It’s not that… Jeyne- the pretty one,” she added as he looked at her blankly. Her voice was harried. “She told me there have been a lot of people come in and out of gates today. And, well, the numbers aren’t adding up, the guards think they have miscounted.”

“You think-?“

“I don’t think we’re being trusted, we need to find them, whoever it is.”

“I…,” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to make sense of what he wanted to say. “Wait. Do you plan to stop them?”

“Is that not what you want?” Her face was ever knowing, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. “I didn’t find you in your own bed and I assumed… Look, all I know is that if someone else does the honours of opening those gates there will be all the grief with none of the reward I know you want. We both want.” 

Taking a deep breath, he nodded as they left and parted ways to cover more ground. 

There were signs of someone having spent some time in one of the stables, a bed of hay flattened, but no inhabitants. Cursing, he crept around the side of the building and along the palisade, towards the gates. As he approached the sounds of an altercation became clearer. In the shadows he watched as a man tore a shovel from a woman’s hands. While deliberating what to do he was saved from his decision by two of Winterfell’s men.

_Robb._

All other thoughts were pushed aside, he reasoned with himself that warning Robb was the only way to rectify the situation. Tearing back to the Stark’s hall, past further cries, he ran along the corridor back to the chamber, to the sounds of a tussle followed by a grunt and the sound of a blade thrust through flesh.

For one heart-stopping moment, his eyes met Robb’s. Up against one of Euron’s men, with his curls plastered to his forehead by the sweat there, his eyes moved from agony to distress in a beat. His room stank of blood and other matter from the two others dead on the floor. He stood there frozen until Theon stepped towards him as blood dripped down between them both. As though expecting some attack from Theon he withdrew the seax from the Vikings body with some difficulty, allowing him to drop to the floor. From the looks of things, the shock on Robb’s face and the way his hand trembled, this was his first kill. 

After what felt like much longer than it most likely was, Robb pointed the blade at Theon as he spoke, “you-“

“No-“

“It wasn’t a question. You lied to me!”

 _“My father wants to be able to use your bay, it’s conveniently placed and suitable.”_ Not a lie.

 _“They’re under the control of an Earl named Euron.”_ Not a lie.

Just not the whole truth either.

“Come near me and I _will_ kill you,” warned Robb, his bloody hand clenching the blade until his knuckles turned white beneath.

“Robb… you need to calm down and think.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I need to do,” his eyes narrowed, “Viking.”

As Theon took another step forward with hands spread out Robb betrayed his threat to stepped back away from him, avoiding contact. The time was now or never, leave him longer and the shock might leave him and leave Theon in a harder position. With one well aimed kick he forced the seax from his grasp. Robb cried out from the pain as Theon used the opportunity to restrain him.

“Listen to me for just a moment, I beg of you,” Theon pleaded as Robb hissed, clutching his fist, “I didn’t lie to you, and I wanted to stop it happening but all we can do know is try to stop things escalating and for that I need you to play along, to be placid, or at least let yourself to be confined.”

“Why should I trust you?!”

“It’s your only choice right now.”

Robb’s chest heaved as he flexed his fingers tentatively, wincing. Just when Theon’s patience was starting to thin he nodded in acceptance, “I will stay here for the time being, but I need you to bring the smith to me.”

“The smith?”

“Yes,” he barked, “the smith. His name is Gendry. Bring him to me. Tell them you are to have me put in cuffs or something. I don’t know. Just do it.”

“Wh-?“

“I’m not going to tell you. You have lost your right to that information. Know this, if anything happens to any of my family I will have your head.” 

He could have told him such a threat was achievable but it was the sentiment that mattered.


	7. Asha II + Jon II

**ASHA**

Jeyne was sat upon the bench, silent, not defiant in her calm exterior, but resolute, as though having accepted her unfortunate fate. Her hands picked at the fleece on her knee, a quiet recognition that the job would always be placed on her or perhaps a sign that she would not allow them to deter her from her duties, they were of little importance. She licked her swollen fat lip as she took a timid and sly glance up through her lashes at Asha, around Euron who stood between them. Her eyes told her to walk away.

“Any word from you and I will have your tongue, I warn you now,” he told Jeyne, lacking any degree of sympathy, before turning back to Asha, “what are you waiting for, I told you to leave.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, taking a deep breath and preparing to object – with what though? How could he be deterred without highlighting her affection for the girl, an action which would serve no good to them.

“Are you wishing to join us?” He jested, an eyebrow raised above the eye which wasn’t covered by the patch he wore.

Behind his back, Asha spotted it; the slide of Jeyne’s hand down the oak bench to grip the handle of the heavy wool comb and the look in her eye. Terrified and determined in equal measure, a plan whirring through her head. Fighting to keep the look of shock from her face at what Jeyne was apparently considering, her mind races between finding a way to stop Jeyne; for the girl would surely be traumatised, not to mention that Asha was convinced she would not have the strength the over power him, and distracting Euron to allow her the time to attempt a fight back.

As though hypnotised, she watched as Jeyne’s knees trembled as she stood, hitching up her navy woollen skirts to retrieve the knife she’d gifted her with gritted teeth. She wasn’t planning on any half measures. She meant to kill him here and now in this draughty hall in which the hearth had no yet been lit for the day ahead.

“Well?” He snapped, “what are you gawping at?”

The blood splattered across Jeyne as she brought down the tool onto the side of his head with all her might. In his shock he turned to her, wide mouthed and eyed, the force of the impact having wedged the teeth into his skull and as he did so she backed away in horror, failing to perform the final act of his execution. Her piercing scream rang out through the hall as she backed into the bench, the knife outstretched in front of her, poised as a warning, but her entire body shook with the fear.

Finally, free from the momentary pyrolysis, Asha leapt into action, instinctively reaching for the axe at her side. Praying to the gods that Euron’s men would ignore Jeyne’s screams and he himself would remain silent in his death she aimed her throw true to his back.

His body collapsed with a thud, a wave of dust flying up from the floor and his hands clutching at Jeyne’s skirts as she sobbed, overcome with her fright and distress at the part she’d played.

“Jeyne…” Asha started, Jeyne refusing to turn her gaze, like he might spring up all of a sudden. Perhaps that was better than her anger. The pain of having been betrayed.

A memory of Jeyne’s hair falling against her chest, her own hands running through it, the soft warm light against her skin as she spoke, _“promise me… should anything ever happen here you run straight for that tunnel.”_ She had been distracted, in a daze and Asha was sure she hadn’t taken in any of it, but when the shouts began Jeyne turned instantly alert, like those you could swear were utterly inebriated but sobered on an instant, ready to fight the world. She had made the conclusion to associate Asha immediately.

 _You knew,_ her eyes had said as she turned back at the doorway and said _, “come with me.”_

She flinched first as Asha reached for her, unsure of the physical contact, wide eyed as she allowed herself to be taken away from him, stepping over the body, the skin of her hands tight from the sticky drying blood.

“We need to get you out of here,” said Asha, pushing through her exhaustion with the adrenalin.

“Come with me, I can’t do it without… I can’t… I really can’t,” she whispered repeatedly, tears welling in her eyes.

“I must at least find Theon.”

“Then let me come with you.”

Asha shock her head, looking down at her, “It’s not safe.”

“Jeyne! JEYNE!” A figure screamed as he ran towards them causing Asha to pull her protectively into her on instinct. The grip softened as she recognised him from the yard. It felt like a lifetime ago she stood jealous of their familiarity with each other. “I thought that was your voice. I need you to come with me, now, as quickly as we can.” He eyed the body and the blood pouring from it but chose not to comment, scratching his head a little as he thought.

The smith. She supposed there we worse people to leave Jeyne in the care of but that would depend on what he had in mind. Smirking, she watched him as he eyed her suspiciously, not quite sure what to think to the predicament of finding Jeyne with her, but something in his expression told her he had surely been with Theon if he wasn’t ready to kill her straight off.

“Where do you intend to go?” Asha asked, her voice more distrusting than intended.

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern,” he told her stubbornly, but without malice.

“Gendry…” Jeyne pleaded in a quiet voice.

He regarded her affectionately, his eyes apologetic, and told her simply, “out.”

Jeyne nodded, pulling herself from Asha and sharing a look with her as she pressed the knife into her hand, even if it did seem her chosen weapon was a domestic household object.

“Keep safe,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ve got her.”

“Then go.”

 

**JON**

“Tell me again,” she insisted, hands mostly at Jon’s waist for the pleasure of it than the need, her fingers probing over his hips. If she could wield a bow from horse back simply keeping on its back was hardly any trouble.

He shouted back over his shoulder, the voice carrying on the wind, hearing the apprehension overriding the hope himself, “the land, he offers the land.”

The land. Their land. The land on which they kept their secret affair.

“To me?”

“To you,” he confirmed one more.

Sounding bemused she continued with the questions, “how does he know they’ll go for it?” She asked of her family.

“He’s willing to stake a lot on the belief that they will decide it is an improvement of the current decision.” His hand reached to find hers, the thumb stroking it tenderly. “You will make quite to marriage prospect.”

He looked back ahead as they approached the small settlement Ygritte called home, frustrated that the smith had been very choice with his words, or rather, Robb had been in informing him, there was a fair amount of reading between the lines to be done. Neither of them dared discuss the thought that was on their minds; that perhaps Robb was engineering something more significant than a gift of land for the future. The idea that one day perhaps there might be a building more substantial in which to spend their time together without the fear of being caught or the constant consideration for the time.

The red morning sky rising above the waves heralded a new day, a day in which lives were to be saved or lost, the water on the horizon an uncomfortable reminder of the inevitable blood-shed.

Brushing the dried mud from his legs as he waited for Ygritte to re-emerge, he paced back and forth outside the gates of inner enclosure, anxious for an answer from the inhabitants. Would they be receiving assistance from their Neighbours with whom they were on shaky ground? Ygritte and Robb were firm believers in the theory of an enemy’s enemy being a friend. This was valuable time wasted. Time spent worrying for his siblings and their home rather than fighting for them, rather than taking action. Time spent thinking of Sansa’s companion, Jeyne, sobbing as she sat by the cliff edge, flecks of blood flaking from her face. Of Ygritte’s poor attempt of comforting her which largely consisted of praise for her bravery, Jeyne looking up at her through tears as she attempted to smile in thanks while simultaneously attempting to decipher her words, unfamiliar with the accent.

When she did finally reappear in the doorway, striding out to him, she inclined her head slightly to indicate that it had gone well. Her family behind her began rousing anyone they might possibly convince to join them in the strange language he was slowly becoming accustomed to. He was considered by a number of relatives, a woman who he assumed might be her mother looked him up and down as though he were some animal they’d taken to market. This must be what it felt like to be Sansa, and to some extent Robb at times; although usually the appraisal of Robb as a match would be done solely on hearsay.

She shouted a command, turning to take a small bowl from a small child and sinking her fingers in the concoction within. A mixture containing woad to form its blue hue. Jon remembered this colour, the colour of his first meeting with Ygritte amidst the fog. The eerie appearance of her sharp face in the morning light. It was meant for him and he made no protest, gaining a rush from the feel of his lovers gazing eyes as he was welcomed into the fold. Today the paint served no immediate practical purpose, but even as an outsider he couldn’t deny the feeling of solidarity. There was no reluctance to relinquish the bowl to him when he reached out, a quiet expression of acceptance and understanding, but Ygritte’s eyes shone as brightly as her hair as his finger drew down her nose with purpose. The journey across the beach would be a risky one.

The approach to the cave brought new noises bar the cries of birds and the crash of waves. Jeyne? No, Rickon. Sansa swayed from side to side, attempting to calm him to no avail, her cheek bone baring the signs of a developing bruise and her head coverless. Arya and Bran meanwhile sparred as though it were all a great game and when the spot him they are full of jibber jabber about the woman, Asha. Arya’s insistence was so strong that he allowed her to traipse after them until the halfway point where they said their goodbyes for what he hope was not for the last time.

“Don’t kill them,” she begged. He knew who she meant.

“I can’t guarantee that… you do know that right?”

Ygritte’s lips formed an empathetic look for the small girl, stood just behind him.

“You don’t know them as we do, things aren’t simple. You of all people should know that,” Arya told him pointedly.   
  
He sighed as he nodded, pulling her in to him, “now, you lie low, with any luck it will be over and done with in no time… none of you have seen Robb?”

“No…”

“Not to worry. I’ll find him.” The paint on his face cracked as he brought forward the most comforting smile he could muster for his spirited sister. Quick witted as she was, she was not fooled and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“I believe in you, Jon.”

“Get gone.” He smirked, ruffling her hair playfully, causing to the plaits to become even more unkempt, something he was under the impression wasn’t possible.


	8. Robb III

The look plastered across Theon’s face as he entered his chamber had frightened Robb, the confident exterior schooled and betrayed by the fear in his eyes. He had heard whispers that that his siblings had escaped Winterfell and yet he daren’t believe them. It was hard to tell for him how much time had passed since he’d sent Gendry on his way, willing though clearly confused, not bold enough to question his choices. Choices that threatened to anger his parents on their return. Now all that he could do was wait, to place fate in the hands of others and base his estimation on the movement of the stars and the growing light.

Thus far he had not heard word of Jon, but something of Theon’s presence told him something had occurred in the world outside that closed and locked wooden door. It struck him then that Theon’s fear was for himself and just like that Robb felt the wrench of his gut.

He shouldn’t have felt like that, but here he was, struck with dread at the thought of him leaving so suddenly.

This was his parting goodbye. The fear brought by the prospect of returning to his father empty handed. As a failure.

Did he feel the same way? Did he feel the pain of their separation, or was his reluctance to leave purely the selfish desire to have returned victorious to his people? Robb supposed his own feelings were, in a way, selfish. This could never be, a truth they had denied. No, a truth they had told themselves did not matter for their connection was purely formed through lust and nothing more.

When Theon’s lips parted to speak nothing came out to break the silent tension of the cool and dimly lit room. He flinched at the sounds from outside the room of people walking down the hall and wordlessly removed a silver ring from his arm, breathing a heavy sigh. It was the one which Robb had been most intrigued by, having traced his finger along the twists and the terminals Theon had told him were dragons while they laid purely enjoying the others presence in the silver light of the moon. He approached slowly, apprehensive, as though Robb might run like prey spotting the hunter. His lips shone from the way he wet his lips from the nerves. How Robb loved those lips, the contrast of the red against the darkness of his hair that fell onto his face. Entranced enough never to remove his eyes from that face he was oblivious to the movement of Theon’s hand until it brushed against his own, asking for permission to take it.

“Must you leave?” He smiled solemnly, the question a courtesy. He knew the answer. The answer was yes.

Those lips of his quirked into the beautiful lopsided smirk of his as their eyes locked, the sadness reserved only for his gaze. “What is it you would do with me? Should I be your prisoner? Your plaything?” He asked in forced jest.

Robb’s hand reached to twirl a braid between his fingers, eventually moving to stroke the loose locks gently back from his face to free his lips from them. “I could never contain you. To try to tame you would be as though trying to tame the waves. Some may succeed for a period but eventually they will tear down their barriers… nor would I want to…”

Theon raised a brow, a little hurt behind his amusement of being so described.

“Not that I don’t desire to be with you,” Robb added quickly, his warm breath against Theon’s lips, a whisper, “but I belong here.”

“And I do not,” Theon continued, sliding his free hand up Robb’s chest slowly, savouring every touch as though willing himself to memorise every inch of his body.

“And you do not,” Robb accepted, leaning in.

Their lips touched tenderly, the kiss, as their lips parted to allow the other in, sorrowful.

Robb had expected the hit of the band as Theon pushed it onto his wrist to be cold against his skin, but the warmth of his body heat remained, a comforting feel.

“I have done nothing to deserve this,” Robb told him quietly, embarrassed of the way in which he had been removed from the action and hidden away. His eyes dropped to his feet, hiding his expression as he had on the beach when they first met, just days ago despite feeling like a lifetime.

Theon’s head dipped to meet his while a delicate long finger tilted his chin back up. “Robb,” he laughed lightly, “you commanded respect from behind a locked door. You engineered a treaty, an alliance, through those who could have fled and run.”

“I lost my family’s land and gave over my brother,” Robb insisted, exasperated with himself.

“’Gave over’?” Theon asked doubtfully. “The land was a small price to pay and have you not allowed your brother happiness, something you may never be afforded, while passing it off as a legitimate move? You don’t give yourself the credit you deserve.”

“Nor do you, thank you. I can’t say I know or understand the full weight of your sacrifice, but you have my empathy.”

“You forgive me?” Quizzed Theon, surprise in his voice.

Robb smiled weakly, unable to say the word yes for now, “I know what it is to belong to my family and to seek approval.”

***

“What now?” Jon asked Robb, frowning as he looked down onto the beach and murky rough waters of the sea, from the cliff edge above, Winterfell at their backs and the grass rippling at their feet. It was not his usual thinking out loud or consulting Robb’s opinion, but a request to hear the decision he expected him to have already made.

Robb fought to keep the bitterness from seeing Jon so surly and sour, when he had what he wanted, from his thoughts. “Now, we free our mother and father,” he responded with determination while relishing the cold and crisp fresh air that came with winter. The sails on the heathen’s ship fluttered gently in the light breeze from where they were held, not yet in use, as they prepared the oars. It felt like the season had changed within a moment, the low sun causing the sea to twinkle from the ray hitting the water at the right angle.

They continued to watch as a lone figure, a woman, ran out across the dry sands, sending up spray. She stumbled as she tripped over the line of grey pebbles that had been deposited by the sea, but clambered back up without a moments hesitation and waded out into the water, her steps exaggerated. The bulk of the fabric from her woollen dress and cloak caused difficulty in her movement as it became saturated and heavy, and she struggled to swim. Robb suspected she couldn’t swim even without the hinderance, and yet she persevered.

Sansa gasped beside them as they watched Theon jump back into the water and dragged her by the waist, hoisting her up as much as he could to enable Asha to pull her up, looping rope around her. Once on board her head hung over the side as she spluttered and coughed up the briny waters after hitting the hard bench. “Jeyne…” Sansa muttered in disbelief as she realised who she was while Asha pulled the wet hair back from Jeyne’s face and fought with the clasp holding her sodden cloak.

Jeyne trembled with the shivers that were brought on, her face pale, by the freezing cold early December North Sea that drenched her clinging clothing. Her face broke out into a smile as she turned to face the siblings. They seemed as astounded by her plucky move as the Starks did.

It occurred to Robb then that he had not been the only inhabitant of the fort to have become enticed by their unusual guests.  He was overcome with a bittersweet feeling seeing the low born girl seizing the chance to change her life while he could not, or rather he chose to not; weighed down by the sense of loyalty he held for his family and people. A girl who had never left the town, who had seemed so trapped in her position, as though her future was mapped out. Now it felt to him as though she had the fortune.

The heavy weight of Jon’s hand fell onto his shoulder, but Robb did not dare to turn to him to see the care in his expression. To do so would force him to acknowledge the raw hurt inside and so he merely appreciated the notion that Jon cared for him.

Jon gave the shoulder an encouraging squeeze before releasing it and urged the younger Starks away, leaving Robb to watch the ship leave alone and lost in his own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so, I felt like it would be a bit forced to make this an 'and everyone lived happily ever after' ending. I'm tempted to follow it up but we'll see... it depends if anyone wants it etc.


End file.
